


I Will Wait For You

by Samking



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Moria, after BotFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:52:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samking/pseuds/Samking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori grieves for the fallen after the Battle of Five Armies, especially the deaths of his best friends Fíli and Kíli. Unable to cope with living in a mountain his One died for, the mountain Fíli should have one day ruled, Ori decides to seek his fortune with Balin and Balin's quest to reclaim the ancient dwarf city of Khazad-dum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Wait For You

Ori could remember falling to his knees when he saw the King dead, how strange it seemed for them to have come all this way for Thorin to die now. Bilbo was sobbing over the dead body, repeating something inaudible to Ori. He felt comforted by his brother’s hand on his shoulder, Dori was always a good to go to when one was upset. Ori imagined there would be a lot of sadness in the coming days, Fili wouldn’t want to be crowned king when his uncle should have the throne. Where were they? Ori looked around to the dwarves standing around Thorin’s body, neither Fíli nor Kíli were there. He rose slowly to his feet, his legs still felt like jelly. “Where’s Fíli and Kíli?” he asked first softly and then louder. “Where’s Fíli and Kíli?” They were his friends, some of his best friends, they’d grown up together in Ered Luin. Fíli was his One, the one Mahal had made for him, or rather he was made for Fíli. He felt the stone in his chest grow heavier and heavier as Dwalin walked over.

“Lad.” Was all he said before glancing to a crumbled form at the bottom of the tower. Only now could Ori see the golden blond hair splayed out. He ran over, he had to see him, had to- to what? What was he going to do?  He couldn’t bring the dead back to life, couldn’t save his One. He was useless, utterly useless, but still he had to see Fíli. An earsplitting cry went out, and Ori felt out of his body as he watched himself fall completely on the ground, giving out that earsplitting cry. Why? Why had he been given Fíli only to have Mahal tear him away like this? He wanted to rip to shreds the person who had killed Fili, but he suspected that Thorin had beat him to it. He was useless once again.  

He laid there for sometime, screaming. The others in the Company allowed him that right. Then Dori came up to him, and tried to help him up to his feet. But Ori refused to go, he couldn’t leave Fíli out here, wouldn’t leave him out here. “He won’t stay out here.” Dori said as he tried to lift Ori once more. “They’re going to bury him with the kings. Him and Kíli, they’ll get the burials they deserve.” But somehow knowing that they would lay his beloved in stone did nothing to quell Ori’s heart. He began to wail louder, and louder. He wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t let them take Fíli from him. But Fíli already had been taken from him. No longer would he see Fíli’’s bright blue eyes light up in mirth, or watch him smoke his pipe during the evenings. No more teasing with his brother, no more quiet kisses in the moonlight. None of that would ever happen again. He felt himself go limp as his exhaustion from the battle and Fíli’s death took over him. It was only then could Dori pull him away into his strong arms and carry him back to the mountain.

The men of Dale played a funeral song as they carried the bodies of Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli back to the mountain. Ori walked along side his beloved Fíli as to of Dain’s men carried his body on a liter. He glanced back at Kíli’s body who had been killed by Bolog protecting the elf maiden. She was no where to be seen. Elves grieved differently than dwarves, he hoped she was alright. She seemed rather nice when they had been Thranduil’s prisoners. He would understand though if she never wanted to see any of them again. They hadn’t exactly been welcoming to outsiders in the last couple of days, though he was grateful that she had saved Kili from the morgul blade, maybe it would have meant more if he hadn’t died a few days later. A lot of things would have mattered more if everyone hadn’t died a few short days later.

The funeral parade twisted through the mountain to the Chamber of Dead, it had been untouched by Smaug, being far below the treasure rooms where Smaug seemed to have spent most of his days. There were larger than life statues of dead kings, kings who were buried in the stone there since Erebor was founded. Now this would be the final resting place of Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain. Dain’s men had already carved a place for the King to be buried, he would be flanked on either side by Fíli on his right as his heir, and Kíli on his left. Later statutes would be made of the three of them in their likeness, for now there was no time. Winter would be soon upon them, and Dain needed to be crowned king. He would be King Under the Mountain now, Ori wasn’t sure what to make of the Lord of the Iron Hills, he had hardly met the man but knew that he would be nothing like Thorin as king. But he was honorable, and good for his word and Ori was sure that the ten remaining members of the Company would have places in Erebor’s society.

He was a bit shocked when Bard placed the Arkenstone on Thorin’s breast before he was shut in by stone. It was better this way though, the Arkenstone was a the stone of the king, but there was something about it that made Ori shutter, maybe it was better that it was shut in the mountain, away from anyone else becoming obsessed over it. King’s jewel or not, it hadn’t brought anything good upon Thorin.

Dori stood by his side throughout the entirety of the funeral, a hand placed on his shoulder in comfort. Ori’s eyes hardly left Fili’s body as the priest spoke about Mahal and how he would watch over the deceased King and his heirs. How one day they all too would pass, and Mahal would watch over all of them as well. It seemed rather harsh to say about a fallen king and his heirs who were dead before their time. Fíli and Kíli would have lived into old age if they hadn’t come on this quest, if a lot of things hadn’t happened, and yet they did happen, and now they were dead. His best friends were dead, the love of his life was dead, and he felt more alone in his life than he ever had before. He hadn’t even felt this alone when his mother died, he’d had Nori and Dori, and Fíli and Kíli encouraging him, helping him cope with that loss. Now, now he still and Dori and Nori, but neither of them would quite understand his loss. Neither of them had ever found their One, they did not understand what that pain felt like, being complete and whole and then suddenly not being. Like half of you had been ripped away, never to return. And no matter how much time passed, this wound would likely not heal.

He felt like a ghost, dead, but unable to move on. Existing, though not actually living. He couldn’t stand Erebor, the memories of what had happened in the mountain those last few days haunted him, but he didn’t dare go back to Ered Luin either, afraid of what memories would haunt him there. Memories of better days, of happier days, memories of childhood, of gold and brown always ahead of him, but never leaving him behind. Dwarves began to return to the mountain, and the mountain's wealth grew, but Ori never enjoyed any of it. He kept mostly to himself, reading in the library, he didn’t have to work anymore not like he used to when he was younger. Dori did still, he was a weaver, and everyone wanted to buy from him. And Nori had agreed to be Dain’s spymaster, working closely with Dwalin and the other guards that used to try to arrest him when they lived in Ered Luin. He heard dwarves whisper, the ghostly member of the Company, the one who had dared to love a prince. He didn’t belong here among the living, he wanted nothing more than to escape and run. But run to he didn’t know where. Sometimes he thought about going to the Shire, to visit Bilbo, the hobbit had said they were always welcome, but he also knew that the hobbit was recovering from the death of his own love and likely didn’t want anyone elses burdens.

He waited for Lady Dís to arrive, he had liked her when he was a child. She’d never had an issue with him playing with her sons like some of the other nobles had when he attempted to play with their children. But she never came. A letter was sent to Balin that she did not wish to return to the place where her brother and sons had died. That she would remain in Ered Luin. He could not find it in himself to fault her for it, she had lost so much already.

He was pushing a hundred, an age Fíli and Kíli had only dreamed about when Balin started talking about reclaiming Moria. The elderly dwarf had become almost as much of a recluse as Ori had. He had lived for the Line of Durin, originally being a guard in Erebor, fighting in the battle of Azanulbizar, guiding Thorin during their exile, tutoring Fíli and Kíli, he had been Ori’s master while Ori had been learning to become a scribe. Ori felt some loyalty for him. Balin wanted to take the ancient homeland of the dwarves, the orcs, he claimed, were leaving Khazad-dûm and it would be easier now to reclaim then it had ever been. There was the matter of Durin’s Bane, the ancient evil that lay slumbering in the deepest caverns. Balin hadn’t come up with a solution on how to get rid of the creature whatever it maybe.

Ori was a hundred and ten when Dwalin got married to Nori. Ori really couldn’t say he hadn’t expected it. When Nori had been a thief in Ered Luin, it had been Dwalin who had hounded him the most, always watching. Ori had never suspected anything back then, he hadn’t known Dwalin that well. Nori had signed onto the quest because he was in trouble with the law, that and he thought that pilfering his way around Middle Earth was a brilliant idea. But the Quest it seemed had brought them together somewhat, and working together for the past forty years had brought them closer. He couldn’t begrudge his brother’s happiness, even if it was something he’d always dreamed about, and now would only dream about.

“I’m going with Balin.” Ori announced five years later. He was at a dinner with the remaining ten members of the Company. He had thought about Balin’s quest to reclaim Khazd-dûm since Nori and Dwalin’s wedding. He had listened to others whisper about him, he had become nothing but gossip for a dwarven court. The poor broken lad who had fallen in love with a dwarf prince doomed to die and had never recovered. He couldn’t stay here anymore, couldn’t pretend anymore. He wanted to leave the mountain, needed to leave the mountain. Nothing remained for him here but a slow fade, at least if he went with Balin to Khazd-dûm he had a chance at glory once more or death.

“Absolutely not.” Dori said almost immediately, jumping to his feet. “That quest is folly.” He turned from Ori to glare at Balin for daring to suggest the quest that Ori wanted to go on. Dori’s protest was reminiscent of his protests against Ori joining a different quest, another quest that he had claimed would be folly. They were standing in proof that, that one had not been, even if the price for the mountain had been high.

“Let him go, Dori. Can’t you tell he is unhappy here.” Nori snapped, coming to Ori’s defense. “Let him go out and experience the world again. You would have him waste away in the library then let him find some happiness in the world.”

“I am going.” Ori said with some defiance, he hadn’t let Dori walk all over him since the Quest ended, if anything had come out those months of traveling and fighting was that he had found his backbone. “I’m one hundred and fifteen, that’s plenty old enough to be making decisions about my future. I survived the last quest to take a mountain.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you wish you hadn’t.” Dori muttered, Ori flinched at his brother’s words.

“Dori!” Bofur shouted in shock, the other members of the Company who had remained quiet during their familiar spat began to mutter amongst themselves. Gloin seemed to agree with Dori that the quest to take Khazad-dûm was folly and that Ori shouldn’t go, while others like Bofur seemed to think that he should go.

“I do not wish I had died with them.” Ori said softly to his brother. “I would not wish that pain upon you and Nori. But Fíli was my One, and if he had lived he would have one day ruled this mountain. And I can’t help wonder what this kingdom lost when her kings died.”

“Thorin would have been a good king.” Balin said just as softly. Ori was barely able to choke back the sobs that had come up his throat. “And Fíli an even greater one. but we can not live in the lands of what ifs. I would be honored to journey with you once more, Ori.”

They left two years later, the only other member of the Company who would join them was Oin, though Ori suspected that Dwalin had wanted to come too, but Balin had told him no. They left with a hundred and fifty other dwarves, those who joined them were either desperate, having to leave Erebor for financial problems or being in trouble with the law, or they were looking for glory. They had neither Dáin’s blessing nor his disapproval, the king had known he could not dissuade them from going though he  was of the same mindset as Dori that the quest was folly. Perhaps they were all right, but Ori could not bare another year in that mountain.

“I suppose none of our reasonings are as noble as the one you lot had when you reclaimed the mountain.” Brandir was drunk, Ori knew that, and most of the time he would have let a jibe like that go unnoticed, he’d heard worst. But everyone around the campfire that he sat at eating the watered down soup was looking at him. Expecting him to give the drunken man an answer, and he could not just ignore it as he wished.

“One of my brothers was a thief, and was in trouble with the law when he signed Thorin’s contract. My other brother joined because he worries too much and felt that Nori and would surely die out here in the wild if he did not come too. Some joined for glory and riches, others may have had nobler reasons.” Ori admitted with a slight shrug. Gloin had joined because of Erebor’s wealth, Oin had followed his brothers, Bofur and Bombur had joined because their kinship with Fíli and Kíli’s father, and Bifur had come because they were going. Dwalin and Balin would have followed Thorin to the end of the Middle Earth if he had asked, perhaps that was noble, or sheer stupidity. Ori wasn’t sure he knew the difference anymore.

“And why did you join?” Another dwarf asked him, Ori wasn’t entirely sure of what his name was.

“My two best friends were going, and I did not want to be left behind. And there’s nothing noble about three dwarves barely out of maturity, one not even, going on a quest to slay a dragon. It’s pure criminal and nothing but desperation. But that’s what the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was, we were desperate.”

No one asked about the Company of Thorin Oakenshield after that.   

Of course they were busy fighting orcs that had made their home around the east gate to Khazad-dûm and were blocking their way into the mountains. Ori recorded everything that happened, who was lost, any edicts that Balin gave. When they finally took the eastern gate they had lost twenty-five good dwarves, and Ori felt more alive than he had in nearly fifty years. He swung his mattocks against orcs and goblins alike, knowing very little of the fear that he had once known when going up against such creatures. He didn’t do anything suicidal in battle, nothing that would make anyone question his sanity or wonder if he had a wish to die in battle. He hadn’t liked when he had told Dori that he would not wish that upon him or Nori.

It took almost a year to get a foothold in the mountain, driving the orcs back toward the mines and not in the actual city of Khazad-dûm. But they never drove back the orcs enough that they didn’t need to keep a watch. Balin sent word back to Dáin of their progress and within six months almost two hundred more dwarves had joined them, they were badly needed as out of the original hundred and fifty that had come with them, only seventy-five remained. Still things were going successfully, and more dwarves would likely come.

By the end of the second year of being in the mountains they had driven the Orcs almost completely out of the mountain, which seemed like a miracle. Ori was tired of the endless fighting, the watchful nights. He wrote a letter to Dori and Nori but was never able to send it off. He wrote each dwarf who had died in his book, wrote about when each orc attack occurred, wrote about how Lord Balin, as everyone was calling him now, Balin Lord of Moria, ordered the reconstruction to start of Khazad-dûm.

The third, fourth, and most of the fifth year in the ancient dwarf city went as well ask could be expected. The repairs to the mines went slower than they had in Erebor, but then again they had fewer people, and they worked slower as to not awake the ancient evil that was Durin’s Bane, if it was still alive to be woken. Ori enjoyed theses tasks much better then driving away the orcs. Balin was talking about one of the mithril mines being operational by the summertime and they would once again be able to start the mithril trade which had made their people so rich long ago. Soon they would be richer than Erebor if they were able to mine the precious metal. He was planning to write to his brothers about the mines, asking them if they wanted to come live in Khazad-dûm rather than Erebor, he didn’t expect either one of them to say yes, but it couldn’t hurt to offer. Plus it would be a good way for them to know the colony was doing alright without him having to explicitly stating so. He felt kind of proud of how well the colony was doing, this would make two ventures that he’s been a part of that were successful despite what everyone said.

“I’m sending Oin with a group of warriors to the Western Gate.” Balin said to Ori after one of his “council sessions” they used the term council loosely as it was mostly made up of the best warriors not politicians as of yet. Ori nodded, he would write down the missive in his book. “I don’t like that creature that is rumored to be in the water there.” Ori hummed in agreement.

He was in one of the mines when the news came back that Lord Balin had been killed by an orc’s arrow Ori wanted to weep. Balin had been one of his oldest friends, his scribe master when he was an apprentice. With Oin gone to the Western Gate it left Ori to be in charge. He ordered a watch set, if there was an orcish archer then likely there was a pack of orcs behind him. Then he ordered a tomb for Balin to be made in the hall just off of the twenty-first chamber. He would have to write to Dwalin when all this was over, inform him of his brother’s fate. It was not a task Ori was rather looking forward to.

Two days later the orcs attacked.

They came in droves that he hadn’t seen since they took this mountain, maybe even before that, back to a battle fifty years past when fighting for another mountain. Ori swung his mattock once more, they would push back the orcs like they had before. They weren’t going to fail, Khazad-dûm belonged to the dwarves just as much as Erebor had, maybe even more. After three days of fighting they had been pushed back from the Eastern Gate and the First Hall. They had lost nearly half their fighters in those three days, Ori wrote about their losses but was unable to name all their dead. More bad news came the next day as they were fighting for the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, if they lost the bridge the orcs would be able to fully enter the dwarf city. Four dwarves returned from the Western Gate informing them that not only was that way barred from them as well as orcs had come in and the creature in the lake was of ill kind, but also that Oin was dead.

Five days later they were pushed back to the twenty-first hall. There were only twenty dwarves left, Ori wasn’t sure how he’d survived this long. Mahal must really not want him back in his Halls though it was only a matter of time now before the orcs made it into the Chamber of Marzarbul where they had originally used as a base of operations when they first arrived, as well as where they had laid Balin to rest. They were trapped, there was no way to get out. In the end Ori had always hoped he would die in battle, any other way and he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to look Fíli and Kíli in the eyes again. He had been given fifty years more than they had, and some would say he wasted it but he couldn’t find himself to regret any of it, especially not retaking Khazad-dûm, he felt so alive here in a way he hadn’t in Erebor. He didn’t feel the way he had growing up with the brothers, but now he at least felt useful and wanted.

Eventually though, the orcs broke in, Ori lead the defense against them of the twenty remaining or so dwarves. He felt no fear of death, he was beyond that, had been beyond that since the orcs first started to reclaim the mountain. When they lost the Eastern Hall he had known that that was it, that there was no way they would be able to stop the orcs from overtaking them, that it had only been a matter of time. He just wished at least one person was able to escape, to inform Dáin, Dwalin, his brothers of their fate. Now it would remain a mystery until the next fool decided to come in and find out what happened to them.

He collapsed beside Balin’s tomb, leaning against it for support. He grabbed book, he meant to write something for his brothers. But his vision was hazy, he was losing too much blood, it was all he could do to hold onto his book as the orcs left, satisfied that they had killed all the dwarves under the mountain. As he sat there, the last of his breath leaving him he could see Fíli and Kíli in front of him.

“Come on, Ori, hurry up.” Kíli taunted the way he had when they were children and the two of them were dragging him somewhere. They were going to get in trouble and they were going to drag him down with them.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Ori said breathlessly. “Wait, wait for me, Kíli, Fíli.” He reached out to them as his vision faded to darkness.

There was a bright light suddenly which contrasted against the darkness Ori was in. And warmth, Ori felt very warm, like a person’s body was up against his. The halls had been damp and cold due to the lack of inhabitants other than orcs for the past centuries, but now he felt as if he was a in a very dry place. Ori cracked an eye open slightly, wherever he was it was well lit. He sat up, his head hurt, but it was only a mild nuisance as he looked around him. He lay upon a stone slab at the end of a hallway, but he could hear the sounds of voices at the other end of the hallway. Sounds of celebration and merriment. The weight that had been on his chest since the retaking of Erebor was gone, his heart felt once again whole, though he could not explain why. Not even the deepest of sleeps had been able to make that pain go away. To his right was a mirror, his breath hitched as he looked into it, he was young again. Fifty years younger then when he last saw himself. The age he had been when Fíli had been when he died, but that was impossible because he was- he was dead. He was dead as well.

He stood up on shaky legs and walked over to the mirror inspecting himself. It seemed surreal to see himself like this. “We revert back to the age we wished we were. The age where we were the happiest.” A familiar voice said from the hallway, Ori saw a flash of gold in the mirror and turned running to the source of that voice. He had heard that voice a thousand times in his dreams.

“Fíli.” He cried, throwing himself into his One’s arms. Fíli was warm, so very warm, so very different from the way he had last felt him. And he smelt of pipeweed, Ori inhaled  as he rested his head against Fíli’s chest. And with Fíli’s arms wrapped around him he finally felt that he had found a home again, this was his home, here in the arms of a Lion Prince.

“Ori.” Fíli said running his hands through Ori’s copper colored hair. No one but him has touched his hair since Fíli’s death, Ori wouldn’t let anyone, not even Dori help him with his braids.

“You’re here. You’re really here.” Ori whispered, his voice muffled by Fíli’s chest, but the prince seemed to hear him none the less. The hand that was gently carding through his hair stopped and Fíli pulled away from him. Ori gave out a small whine at the lack of warmth he could now feel, as Fíli used only a single finger to lift Ori’s face to look at him. His blue eyes were intense as always, and after not seeing them for fifty years, Ori felt like he was drowning in them.

“I am here, Ori. And this time, I won’t ever let you go.” He promised as he leaned down and sealed that promise with a kiss like he used to do when they were younger, and Ori at least was a bit more naïve about the world. _Now it’s sealed with a kiss_ , younger Fíli would say, _I can never break it_. And he never had broken one of those promises, save one. The promise he made to Ori at the beginning of the Quest, the promise that they would all make it out alive. Ori reached up and pulled on Fíli’s hair a little to pull him down to a more suitable level.

Fíli got down on his knees instead, his head pressed into Ori’s stomach as Ori buried his hands into golden hair, it was soft, softer than it had been on the Quest due to lack of care to it. “I’m sorry.” Fíli said into his stomach, he gripped Ori’s side as he spoke. “I’m so sorry for dying, for leaving you behind.”

“You couldn’t control that.” Ori found himself saying. He didn’t care about the they’d spent apart now, none of that meant anything to him because Fíli was here now.

“Forgive me.” Fíli whispered as if not hearing anything Ori had just told him, the stubbornness of the Line of Durin, and their need for repentance.

“You are already forgiven.” Ori whispered. “You’re here, and I’m here now, and Mahal be damned if I ever let you go again.”

“Come on,” Fíli said standing up again, smiling, he took Ori’s hand. “There are others waiting to see you.” He lead Ori down the hallway, and Ori’s breath gasped. There sitting around one of the benches was everyone he loved, minus Dori and Nori who were still in the realm of the living. _Amad_ , who had died when he was little, Thorin, Lady Dís, Balin, Oin, who no longer used an ear trumpet to hear everyone, Kíli.

“Ori!” Kíli cried jumping up from the table when he saw the two of them walking in. “You’re here!” Ori nodded a bit shyly glancing at King Thrór and Thrain who were sitting beside Thorin as well as a blond who was bouncing around the same way Kíli did at times, was that their other uncle? Frerin? The one who had died before they knew him. Would they all want him to sit at their table with them. Amad was sitting there, but she was so close to another group of dwarves that she could almost be counted as not with them.

Kíli pulled him into a hug from the front and Fíli hugged him from behind creating a Prince of Durin sandwich that Ori had loved as a child. It was a reminder that he was accepted by them. “I missed you so much.” Ori whispered.

“We know.” Kíli said. “We missed you too. But Mahal said it wasn’t your time yet, that we must be patient for you and now you’ve returned a great hero.”

“A great hero?” Ori asked pulling away from the brothers. He wasn’t a hero, he had been stupid and a bit foolish to think they would be able to hold onto Khazad-dûm, and with a large amount of stubbornness he’d stuck out till the end, it was subborness that rivaled the Durins at times. Dori had said they were distantly related to them. “We all died.” There was not a dwarf left in the ancient city, he had been the last one to remain when the orcs had left the chamber. Even if there had been someone still alive it wasn’t as if they could escape, orcs swarmed the place.

“For your actions at Khazad-dûm, for the leader you were there despite knowing that you would all likely doomed. You were brave Ori, very brave.” Fíli said. “I’m proud of you.” The brothers led Ori to the table where they made him a spot right in between them, Fíli holding his hand the entire time as introductions were made. And Ori leaned his head on Fíli’s shoulder basking in the warmth, the wait had been worth this.

 **  
**_And I will wait, I will wait for you._

**Author's Note:**

> This was my reaction story to BOTFA, before the movie came out I had toyed in my head that one of the reasons Balin especially left Erebor was that he couldn't bare to see anyone besides Thorin on the throne, and that retaking Khazad-dum was more of a thing of grief rather then greed as Tolkien seemed to imply. I tried to keep everything as close to Tolkien's original timeline with the retaking of Moria. And I really liked the idea of Erebor never feeling quite like home to Ori who grew up in Ered Luin, plus I'm a huge Fíli/Ori fan so it all worked out in the end. Thank you for reading my attempt at sorting out my feelings about BOTFA.  
> The lyrics at the end as well as the title are taken from Mumford and Sons I Will Wait which I do not own.


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